The Ottoman Empire

 “The Ottoman Empire”

    “This is the end, Fred.” Herman says quietly. “This is where we die forever.”
    Herman Sarchet stands on an English leather ottoman watching the store flood. Fred Haier stands on another.     
    Fred crouches on his stool to sweep his fingers through the murky floodwater. The grime seeps into the crevasses in his hand. “You’re right, Herman. This is the end. And it‘s going to be very cold.”
    The water is rising at the rate of roughly one inch per two minutes. They had several minutes to decide which ottoman they would prefer to die on. Herman chose the English leather, because it reminded him of nobility and cologne. Fred at first nominated a paisley print footstool reminiscent of faux-baroque stylings, but Herman reprimanded him. He told Fred that what he chose was in fact a tuffet, not an ottoman, and therefore shouldn’t be the pedestal on which a man acquainted with a man of Herman’s reputation should die.  
    “To end this life, not as a Saracen but American, ensconced in the living machinations of capitalism. To die in the ‘Ottoman Empire.’” Herman says to himself.
    Fred looks up. “What?”
    “Nothing. I won the Nobel prize, did you know that?”
    “No. Before or after you worked here? Did you know I won five dollars on a scratch-off yesterday? I think I‘d rather have had that luck today.”
    Herman shakes his head. The water begins to seep into the eyeholes of his sneakers. “If I don’t die today, I’m going to leave my wife.”
    “If I don’t die today,” Fred says, “I’m going to leave the country.”
    Herman nods as the water reaches Fred’s ankles. “If I don’t die today, I will shoot a man.”
    “I’ll shoot a man with a crossbow.”
    “I’ll shoot a man with a ballista.”
    Fred squints as the chill of the flood reaches the back of his kneecaps. “What’s a ballista?”
    Herman returns the squint as the water ascends to his popliteal region. “If you don’t die today, I suggest researching medieval siege weaponry.”
    “If I don’t die today, I’m going to try heroin.”
    Herman feels the water cresting his xyphoid process as the storms outside the store rage on, showing no signs of cessation. “Fred, remember that tuffet you wanted to die on?”
    Fred nods.
    “It was wrong of me to deny you that tuffet. You should die on what you want to die on.”
    “I didn’t really care for it, Herman.”
    “Than why did you choose it?”
    Lightning strikes close by as the water reaches Fred’s armpits. “It was taller,” he says.
    Herman begins to list prime numbers in his head as the grime touches his lips.
    Fred begins to miss macaroni and cheese. “If I don’t die today,” he says to Herman through the water, “I’m going to eat some macaroni and cheese.”
    Herman laughs quietly through the water as it submerges the bridge of his nose.